


Catching You (draft)

by orphan_account



Series: Brighter Shapes of the Far Shore [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canon Shifters, Fealty, Fánar ≠ Hröar, Gen, Not Beta Read, Supernatural Elements, Team Feels, Terrible syntax, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Manwë prepares to summon the fallen Ainur of his host home from the battlefields of the War of Wrath. No defined ship. (Being rewritten)
Relationships: Elf | Elves/Valar, Maia | Maiar/Vala | Valar, Manwë/Maiar, Manwë/Vanyar
Series: Brighter Shapes of the Far Shore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905160
Kudos: 7





	Catching You (draft)

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been betaread and this would have needed to be revisited a little. But it doesn't seem that it will come to be.

The white peak of Taniquetil holds its breath as if slumbering in a dream. Around of Oiolossë, the winds are mute; Manwë's birds, Kelvar and Maiar alike, dare not to sing anymore.

On a lower Pelóri peak, in a vast and newly built tower, the Lord of the Sky and Firmament stands. There, no need for doors or suchlike redundant devices; Ainur completely transcend matter itself and no other are to enter the secluded place. The only retainers are healers and guardians of peace, one of the later placed on every floor, all selected for tact and patience.

The one who holds his domain there, the one who sits on the throne of Valinor awaits in the silent and dim space of the lowest level, his fána hovering a few inches above the floorboard.

Manwë Súlimo, elected steward of Arda, is an intense and bright presence, one that seems dormant, still, so idle that he stays in the middle of that closed rotund space.

Adorned with a functional attire for the task, his vast and nimble shape only express concentration. And in that occupation, his tension seems tangible, alive — and just so is for the sworn Maiar who carry his lifeforce.

In that moment, his head is bare, his hair floats free from the creative force of his mind; however, Eä in its whole currently weights on his mind.

Valar were closest to bend the laws of time that governed The Song when they wove and directed a sub-scheme. The one he had imbued the whole tower in should award them precious hours.

But there is still the chance that he won't be fast enough, or sufficiently vigilant; he _should_ be able to spare them most of the pain...

He must not think about Eönwë for now.

If the Captain of their Hosts falls, or if he recalls him back, it would be to the doom of their forces cut from leader perhaps in the heat of the fight. And one way or another, they are fighting alongside Eldar; Incarnate who need vessel and physical transport to return alive.

No matter what, the vassal he secretly calls _son_ is the one he must and shall recall home last. Even as a diminished presence, his valiant Herald, now Captain of their forces, is brilliant with people; his energy inspires the weary of heart and is capable to guide the lost. The amount of valarin energy that he has lent him, will protect his fëa and strengthen his hear, no matter what comes.

Three lieutenants are under Eönwë's command, one of each of the valarin House to have sent warriors; both mentally aware of each other with enough clarity as to execute any strategy smoothly and perfect efficiency.

Still, two of these Maiar are Tulkas's and Oromë's. Glendrëon leads his flying troops, but Eönwë holds his banner, and more -that of The One himself- in the eye of all of the Children.

...

Manwë is an Ainu King. The elected ruler of Arda, by birthright and by choice both. He has complete faith in his forces, eldarin and maiarin both, for he knows precisely the scope of their skill and martial wisdom...

And yet, until now he has hidden some of his thoughts from them for he _mourns_. He has had visions of things to come, and know the numbers of fallen fëar that this Campaign will cost; mostly Maiar, soldiers, engineers and healers alike...

Despite of their immortality, ainurin fëar could be mangled, disfigured, corrupted, and diminished to brainless sparks barely able to be called flames of any kind.

During their struggles against their enemy, they had already seen ainurin fëar run so dry that they had turned a pale cold light, seeming nothing but extinguished to the eyes. Somehow, Melkor had taught some of the Maiar he stole how to siphon the fëar of Ainur to grow themselves in power.

He had just released his brother, according to the promise he had made to him. In less than a few hours of the sun after the Uvala's shackles had fell, they felt tendrils of his brother's lifeforce dancing deep in the mind of the noldorin heir. By the time Fëanor's kin sent him to Formenos, the Ainur had lost three Maiar; both sucked dry, hollow and too far gone for the Powers of Lórien.

No Vala understood what was happening, and none thought that his brother would seduce and blackmail so many of their servants still. But mostly, no one imagined that he would go so low as to leave many sleeping agents among them to undermine their governance, spreading confusion and terror among the Maiar, encouraging them distrust and hate.

Not even the Keeper of Souls, who saw things to come before any other. The gift of Námo was vast and meaningful, but was never this precise.

Melkor...the Uvala's spies took yéni to expose, and even then, they never got to know if some of them remained... They began to investigate through devices, Songs, customs, and patience. But the situation has been too morally complicated to handle still, and after an Age of struggle and misery, their Maiar's sufferings had grown too heavy to mend.

One evening, he took his soulmate and his first Maia, went to find Nienna, and knelt with them in the eastern reaches of Lórien. Privately, they both Sung to The One, humbly requesting His Help.

From that moment, before Laurelin had begun to shine, many insidious problems resolved themselves through hundreds of coincidental happenings, working in chain reaction, exponentially growing in their wonders and having the most exhausting managing dilemmas he had butted heads with for years simply disappear.

Nonetheless, by The One's will, and because their hubris, some of their most devoted and gentle servants' faith were already lost. Some asked to be released of their oath, and pledged themselves to other Houses, others left all domains to embrace secluded lives, in the northern wilderness, or in Endórë. Hearsay has a few of them embodied, even, in a hröa, gone for a desire of novelty, to live among the Eldar of Aman... (Eönwë's actions and loyalty, in these somber days, has reminded Manwë of the power of his close friend and the fortune he has had to have his pledge for so long.)

To the innocence lost, to torn bonds they have all mourned. The day of the Uvala's release, the beginning of the worse torments, was marked as a remember of what had been and a promise to the Maiar that they would not be left to fend off on their own; neither in Valinor, nor in Aman, nor on Arda. Every yén, their bond of fealty had been honored in these ways.

Still, they were reclaiming those who could — and wanted to be, and putting an end to the Uvala's madness, the one he would not call brother before Eä was remade by The One's compassion. Once and for the remaining of the Marred Era of Eä's...

When Eönwë enters his mind to gives him news, he concentrates further, keeping a strong grasp of his divided attention. The enemy has more bowmen, harpooners, catapults and flying creatures in his ranks than expected, the number of the fallen that he has foreseen among his own host defines itself.

Eönwë assures him that they still easily outpower him and Manwë feeds his child with a Song for confidence and determination, just as he confides in his Herald about what he saw. _'We have planned **right** , the enemy stands **no chance**.'_

With the words of power treading on the webbed rules of Eä strongly enough to echo in the Manwë’s mind, Eönwë leaves his Vala, clearing his presence from their bond.

For a brief moment, Manwë spreads his mind higher outside of the tower, to touch the minds of other domains.

...With Nienna's help, Námo is already crowded and overly busy. Estë and Irmo both have their own Maiar to look after, departed as war healers instead of fighters; most of whom are of Tulkas's, Oromë's hosts.

Aulë, Yavanna and the other Valar clad female are allegedly less busy but they have not dedicated their power neither to the mending of hröa, fánar nor fëar. Soliciting them for help seems unfitting.

The healing of his children is a personal and sensible task. Waking with the raw fëa touch of another Vala is very likely to disorient them, if they don't panic outright, and the stress of it doesn't make diminish even more. His house must nurse their fallen alone, this time. Even since the preparations for this war, he had built a fortress dedicated to this sole task.

So there Manwë waits, on the lowest floor, four stories below ground, his hand suspended in the air... Awaiting his children to die.

He sings to the All-Father, asking for strength, swiftness, and if it fits His designs, then full success in this endeavor...

.

Just like the first time, he had sung a cloud or a wing, life stands still all-around of him, aware of the tension. The air is crisp with fizzing energy; his mind, focused on Endórë and on the individual links of his Maiar.

In his mind thousands of threads of power are held taut. They are the metaphysical bonds linking the fëar of his valiant host; winged Maiar of the skies in eldarin and adaniri shapes and colors ; all departed from his halls to meet his brother and correct his mistake and his sin... Obliviousness.

Indeed, from where he stands, intimately focused on his Maiar, the Lord of Firmament, whose Far Sight encompasses all things across Arda, see nothing of their campaign progress. But he is confident, for both the All-Father and his spouse who guard the frontiers of Eä itself stand guard in his place, on his throne for this.

His host is certainly not alone; even some of Aulë's, Ulmo's and Varda's have joined the big of the hosts, Tulkas's and Oromë's, all marching under the banner of his Chief Maia, weapon master and war strategist.

This final intervention is going to put an end, not only to his brother's rule in Endórë, but also to the horrors Melkor has forced on the Song, on the Children, and even on too many among their own numerous deserting servants...

If he can't watch, Manwë can feel; and that he does with all of his attention, only sparing what must to be aware of the building and the first floor he is going to use.

This takes swiftness, precision; if he pulls a second too early, it would undermine war tactics; a second too late and he loses one of his Maiar, their fëa too crippled to heal before thousands yéni if ever...

He forces himself to take a break, let air course through his fána — the motion calming his mind, keeping him steady.

It begins.

The first fight involving his own host is engaged. He feels them through their Oath, the energy and resonance that is the bond.

He senses their struggle, feels them falter, get back up and return to the heat of the fight; he feels them suffer, sense each of their victories, hopes, despair, and the strength of their resolve as his officers draw on his energy. Often, he has to restrain himself; they will call. They have precise orders from him.

The first who falls feels like a bolt of electricity when she tugs on the bond. He draws to him the fëa. and makes their landing safe in a corner of the floor.

He can't do more than spare a circular glance over the wounded and diminished spark of light that it has become, hovering helplessly where he had left it. For now, it has been saved, even if it is not safe yet as diminished fëar are susceptible of shrinking inertia when not tended to...

Soon, too soon, a second fallen Maia tugs on his mind, calling his Vala for help; he can't fight anymore and won't heal quickly enough with Estë's healers.

Immediately, the Lord of the Breath of Arda, lifts an arm, a blue tendril of power with faded ends flickered on, glowing in his fingers' grasp. Delicately, he drew his hand to his chest, slowly pulling the link, guiding the fëa where it belonged. A shivering ball of light fades in before him, floating in inertia toward his chest. He brushes the fëa with a third hand, to calm it even if only a little before directing it to a spare resting place, making it glide in across the mantle of his power with a precise and gentle blow.

They need their lord. The healers who remained are here, beside of him, already nursing and arranging the fëar he has brought. But Manwë know that their fëar will only find complete peace from their Vala's presence, the characteristics of their bond makes it so; an oath of power as solid as the Song, and older still, carrying its intricate web of rules that rest carved in their very nature.

And so, as he listens and summons them, he flares power across the room, filling into its corners, making all those inside able to sense him without effort, to feel safe.

By the end of the valarin hour, the two fëar become twelve.

As Tillion rises above Endórë, over forty souls hover in the floor that is just vast enough for them to rest without falling into each other and panic.

Manwë has no time to worry about it; the fights don't stop. He blinks his fána out and of space, and back on, reappearing on the net floor.

He can and will get catch them all.

The healing bout will be organized.

He will choose those most inclined to help others first; fill them with power, and show them what to do. He will direct them to those most ready to heal, and focus himself on the weak and the meek.

It will take some time. The rest of his house, the stewardry of the air and wind of Arda will have to wait for the valarin houses to finish their recovery…He has had a vision of these times of transition and he has faith that they will make do, however hard they will be.

Eä will heal.

It should be long. It should be slow; ever so slow and never fully, never as to regain the beauty and generosity that he knew before _Morgoth_ , and the changes he made. But it should sail toward that goal, in accordance with to the All-Father design...

The Powers will offer their all in conjugating expertise; most, united in this common goal: to reconvene and lessen the damage his brother has done to the Song as a whole; to keep what can be of the tapestry of Arda together.

To that end, they will work accordingly, twice as fierce, thrice as fast, for the Children, for the Song, and for their faithful Maiar.

For over forty Years of the Sun, that is, a handful Valian months; Manwë stands vigil in the tower, providing his host with energy and safety, his sad insights only motivating him to help and nurse his soldiers better.

After days of work, of healing, and discussing the logistics and plans for the aftermath, ...once every fëa is resting safely, Manwë returns to Ilmarin, setting foot in his home again for the first time.

There, just then, a mind brushes against his.

The fëa who houses it lightens his face almost painfully. The doors swing open, the person steps forth. The smile of the Elder King almost split his face, strong and bright.

Before the other can touch his knees to the marble floor, Manwë has them in his arms, folding himself around their shoulders.

 _'Welcome home, child of mine._ '

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Manwë is going to have to stand vigil for over forty years; and if everything is perfectly planned and the Uvala of Eä stands no chance, _~why the valarin angst_? One reason: self-indulgent fluff.


End file.
